Journey into Violence by William W. Johnstone

there?”
    Immediately, a rifle roared like rolling thunder in the narrow confines of the alley and chips of wood splintered from the timber wall inches above Frank’s right shoulder. He was dazzled by the flash of the rifle but he fired, fired again. Ahead of him, a man cried out in pain and shock, followed by the sound of dragging feet.
    Frank went after him, his boots clanking on the empty whiskey bottles that littered the alley floor.
    The man at the entrance to the alley yelled again. “Here, stop the shooting!”
    Frank thought he sounded drunk and ignored him.
    The alley ended at the blank wall of a warehouse of some kind. Passageways led to the left and right, but a rickety tower of packing cases blocked the one to the right. Frank moved to his left. Between the rear of the store and the wall of the warehouse, the passageway was narrow, only a few feet wide. Ahead of him he heard a curse and a shadow moved awkwardly, as though a man had tripped and stumbled forward. Frank snapped off a shot, aware that he could have fired on some drunk who’d wandered onto the scene. He heard a grunt.
    A man’s voice said, “For God’s sake, mister, don’t shoot me no more.”
    â€œState your intentions.”
    â€œDamn it, I’m shot through and through. I don’t have any intentions.”
    â€œDrop the rifle and step forward,” Frank said. “And I warn you, I can drill ya from here.”
    â€œHell, I can’t walk. I’m dying here. I need a priest.” The man’s voice was weak, barely a whisper heard in darkness. “You’ve done for me.”
    â€œStay right where you are. I see any sign of a fancy move from you, pardner, I’ll cut loose.”
    A louder voice came from behind him. “Don’t shoot, Cobb. It’s Sheriff Hinkle.”
    Footsteps sounded as the lawman emerged from the gloom. He held a scattergun in his hands. “Mrs. Kerrigan said somebody took a pot at her son. He got burned across the back, but he’ll be all right.”
    â€œI think the shot was intended for Kate,” Frank said. “She’s been prying into Sarah Hollis’s murder and somebody in this town wants her dead. I plugged the shooter and he’s laying wounded right there ahead of us. Maybe he’ll tell us something.”
    â€œIs he out of it?” Hinkle said.
    â€œHe says so.”
    â€œNever trust a wolf till it’s skun, Cobb. You ever hear that before?”
    â€œYeah, I have. All right. Let’s take a look. Keep the Greener handy.”
    As Hinkle walked forward, his hands opening and closing on the shotgun, he said, “Any chance Mrs. Kerrigan might consider leaving Dodge real soon? And if that sounds hopeful, it is.”
    â€œShe’s got the bit in her teeth over Hank Lowery,” Frank said. “Once she proves him innocent, she’ll leave.”
    â€œThen I’ll hang him sooner than I planned.” Hinkle turned and yelled, “One of you men bring a lantern up here.” And then to Frank, “Then we’ll go see who the hell you shot and hope he ain’t a friend of mine.”
    * * *
    Reaching the wounded man, Hinkle took a knee beside him and held the lantern high.
    â€œRecognize him?” Frank said.
    â€œUh-uh. Never seen him before. What’s your name, feller?”
    â€œAm I gonna die, Sheriff?” the man said.
    â€œSeems like,” Hinkle said. “You got two chest wounds and one of your lungs is sucking air. Best you make your peace with God.”
    â€œMy name is Adam Cook. I was born and raised on a farm north of here before I fell in with low companions and came to this pass.”
    â€œWho told you to shoot Kate Kerrigan,” Frank said.
    â€œMan paid me fifty dollars to do for her. I followed her from the hotel and got my chance when she stopped to buy a cake. But the light was so bad in this alley I couldn’t rightly see the gun